


Shut Up Jon!

by goldenkraken



Series: Droughtjoy2017 [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dissociation, Droughtjoy 2017, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attacks, droughtjoy2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenkraken/pseuds/goldenkraken
Summary: Prompt 23 of the Droughtjoy2017 thing, written as a gift for SelkieWife.Set directly after he reunites with Jon on the beach, Theon is incredibly distressed about Daenerys' absence. He needs to save his sister, but how can he do that if his Daenerys isn't there to help him? Jon's aggression doesn't help matters either, and Theon becomes too overwhelmed.When Theon panics and dissociates, Davos and Missandei are there to help.





	Shut Up Jon!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SelkieWife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/gifts).



“The Queen’s not here,” Jon spoke gruffly.

Confusion flickered across Theon’s features. “Where did she go?” he asked, frowning.

Before Jon could say anything, Missandei stepped forward, keeping her delicate hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Our Queen has gone to lead the Dothraki into an attack against the Lannisters. We are not quite sure when she will return,” she said, her voice remaining as calm and clear as it always was.

Theon’s heart almost stopped in his chest and he felt an immediate sinking in his stomach. This could not be happening. Why could nothing ever go smoothly? Why was there always some sort of obstacle in his path?

“You don’t know when she’ll be back?” he echoed, feeling himself grow pale.

Missandei offered a polite, if somewhat forced, smile and shook her head apologetically. “I am afraid not.”

Without Daenerys, there was no hope of getting Yara back in one piece – assuming she would even still be alive by the time they got the chance to even attempt to rescue her. Euron was a mad dog and there was no telling what he would be doing to his niece now that she was completely at his mercy. For every second that they lost, Yara’s chances of survival slipped further and further away. A familiar tendril of self-hatred coil unpleasantly within the expanse of his chest; why did he always fail?

Theon dragged a hand through his brittle greying hair; heart beating rapidly in his chest as he turned towards his men. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to shout. He wanted to do anything other than stand there while everyone stared at him with their relentless judgement and watched as he struggled to maintain his composure. Jon Snow was probably loving every second of this. He didn’t doubt that the Ironborn were amused too – after all, was this not yet another failure to add to Theon’s ever-growing list of fuck ups?

“How long has she been gone?” Theon asked with a note of frustration, unable to prevent himself from raising his voice a little as he glanced from Missandei to Jon and back. “Is Tyrion still here?” Tyrion had not attempted to hide the contempt that he felt towards Theon, but if Daenerys wasn’t here to help, Tyrion was the next best thing.

“Lord Tyrion accompanied the Queen on her journey,” Missandei replied, keeping her voice level despite the concern that flickered briefly across her features. “I can see that you are worried, but I can assure you –”

“ _Worried?_ ” Theon hissed incredulously before Missandei got chance to finish her sentence. “Euron has my sister! The longer she’s with him, the worse it’s going to be. I _need_ to get her back!”

He was panicking. His chest rose and fell rapidly within the confines of his robes. Yara was going to die. Yara was going to die a long, slow death at the hands of their sick, twisted uncle. Yara was going to die and it was all because he had been unable to protect her when it really mattered.

“The Queen will return as swiftly as she can. Please be patient,” Missandei replied calmly, not breaking her composure even slightly, despite the slight worry that flickered across her face.

Theon’s mind was racing. _‘Euron’s going to kill her. He’s going to torture her and take her tongue and then he’s going to kill her and it’s all because of me. I failed her. She’s dead because of me.’_ He began to pace without even realising, muttering to himself frantically as his control slipped out of reach.

Jon wrinkled his nose, openly displaying his distaste as he took a step towards Theon. “I think you need to calm down, Turncloak.” he hissed, voice dripping with condescension. Theon’s blue eyes snapped towards him at once, and Jon didn’t even pause for breath as he continued loudly, “Perhaps your sister wouldn’t be in this mess, had you done your duty properly. Could you really not defeat Euron, or did you betray your sister the same way you betrayed Robb?”

Theon could hear his blood thundering through his veins, and the distinctive tang of bile formed at the back of his throat. He could feel himself slipping; the edges of his mind becoming hazy with the combined panic and shame. He had been trying so hard to maintain his composure, but Jon’s taunting was too much to handle – the guilt and the shame, and the crushing realisation that Yara could very possibly die because of his own cowardice. It was all too much. Theon’s eyes glazed over and he was faintly aware of someone speaking, though he couldn’t make out the words or the speaker. He betrayed Robb. He betrayed Yara. He had failed two of the people that mattered more to him than anybody else in his life, and it was all because he was incapable of ever doing the right thing.

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. Yara was going to die.

“What’s wrong with him?” someone asked. Theon barely heard them.

“Lord Greyjoy, are you alright?” Missandei?

“Fucking coward.” An Ironborn.

Robb was dead. Theon remembered Ramsay telling him about it. Butchered like a pig at the Red Wedding. Ramsay had been especially cruel to him that day, attacking his mind rather than his body. Drowned _God_ , why did his thoughts always have to come back to Ramsay?

“I need to save my sister,” Theon spoke shakily, his words sounding bleak and empty. He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, and his gaze seemed to be focused on something that wasn’t quite visible to anyone else. Distantly, he realised he was kneeling. “I need to get her back before Euron cuts out her tongue.”

_I need to save her before Euron makes her into something like me._

That was almost worse than the thought of her being dead. Euron was a sick, sadistic man with a love of violence and cruelty; of course he would make Yara suffer before she died. Ramsay had been a fate worse than death, and there was no doubt that Euron would be too.

Silence descended over the beach. Theon barely even noticed, though he could feel the dozens of eyes fixed upon him as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

_Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak._

“Oh for fucks sake, are we really all just going to stand around?” hissed a voice. Theon’s eyes were focused on the sand and he didn’t really know who was speaking, nor could he bring himself to concentrate. His mind was running away with him now – thoughts spiralling, spiralling, spiralling, like ancient staircases curling downward into the dark.

_Reek, Reek, it rhymes with shriek. You have to remember your name._

A pair of boots appeared in front of him then and a pair of hands clasped hold of his face. Theon’s entire body jerked involuntarily at the sudden contact, and his eyes had grown huge with fear. Someone squatted down in front of him so that they could be eye level, and it took Theon a few seconds to realise that the person facing him was the same man that had accompanied Jon. He had a neat grey beard and his mouth was set in a firm line, but the man’s eyes held a certain honesty to them that Theon was not accustomed to. “You listen to me, lad,” spoke the man as he kept hold of Theon’s face and forced him to maintain eye contact, “I want you to take hold of whatever’s whispering away in your head and get rid of it.”

Theon merely stared at him, causing the man to give him a slight shake.

“Can you hear me? You need to focus. Slow your breathing,” the stranger instructed.

“Davos, you’re wasting your time,” Jon said flatly from where he watched the commotion with equal parts annoyance and disdain. “Clearly his mind has gone.”

“Aye, the boy’s a cowardly little brat,” one of the Ironborn concurred. “Can’t expect anything less from a eunuch.”

“A eunuch?” Jon sounded confused.

“What, you didn’t know? Ramsay Bolton cut his cock off.” There was a pause as the Iornborn man spat into the sand. “Pathetic.”

Too many voices. Too many words. Too many reminders of too many memories. Theon’s breathing began to come in gasps, and his soft blue eyes were wide and full of panic. He was struggling to breathe – the air simply wasn’t filling his lungs, and his mind had become so frantic that he couldn’t even focus on a single thought ( _Stupid, cowardly, pathetic, weak – weak, weak, it rhymes with Reek! Turncloak, traitor, failure, fool)_. Everything was too much. Tears stung at the corners of those clear blue eyes as his gaze darted around for something to focus on, and one of his hands grabbed blindly at the sand beneath him.

“I think you forget yourself, ser,” Missandei’s voice cut across the beach as she fixed the Ironborn with the harshest stare she could muster, “The person you are referring to is your leader, and he is an important asset to our Queen! Furthermore, a man’s genitals do not determine his worth or his ability. If you wish to dispute this fact, perhaps you could have a word with some of the Unsullied? I am sure they would be more than happy to give you a demonstration.”

“I meant to offence, miss, I was just –”

“Just what? Using the suffering of _your leader_ against him?”

Davos cut in before anyone else could speak. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but can you all just shut up for a moment?” he spat. “We can fight about eunuchs later.” He moved one hand to the back of Theon’s head, again trying to seek eye contact with him. “Can you hear me, lad? Do you know where you are?” Theon’s eyes focused on him for just a moment, though his gaze still appeared to be glazed and distant. Davos repeated the question.

“Dragonstone,” Theon breathed out after a moment’s pause.

“That’s right. Can you say your name for me?”

_You have to remember your name._

A tear slipped down Theon’s cheek and he gave his head a slight shake. He couldn’t do this.

“You’re alright boy, I’ve got you. Try and slow your breathing for me, okay? Yes, like that. Good. What’s your name?”

Ramsay’s voice rang through his head, echoing those same words through his fat, worm-like lips. Another tear slipped down Theon’s cheek and he wanted to be sick. He felt completely trapped and defeated, and his chest hung heavily with pain and distress. His mind was so foggy now – he was already drifting again, regardless of the brief calmness that Davos had managed to instil within him.

Gentle footsteps pressed against the damp sand, then suddenly there was a flurry of fabrics as the beautiful Missandei of Naath came to kneel beside Davos. She offered Theon a kind smile, though her eyes were sad. “You can do this, Theon,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice as light and optimistic as she could.

_Theon? My name is Theon?_

One of her slender hands reached out and took hold of Theon’s, squeezing supportively for a moment as she watched him. “You know where you are, but do you remember who I am?”

Theon swallowed deeply and his eyes were still struggling to focus, but he offered a small nod. “You’re.” He swallowed again. “Called Missandei.” Her hand squeezed his again, and it felt like a lifeline.

“You’re doing fantastic, lad,” said Davos, “Right now, you just focus on Missandei for me. Try to concentrate on what she’s saying.”

Missandei seemed surprised by this, but she nodded after the smallest of pauses. “Um, yes,” she began, “You’re doing wonderfully. Um. Your name is Theon, and you are the heir to the Iron Islands. I hear that you were once a skilled archer, and you seem to be a good sailor too. You helped provide a fleet that allowed our Queen and her armies to sail to Westeros – in fact, we would not be standing on this beach if it were not for you.”

“You’re also a filthy traitor who betrayed the family that raised you, and the man that you called ‘brother,’ and now you’re having a tantrum because Daenerys isn’t here to fix your latest mistakes,” Jon cut in spitefully.

“For fucks sake Jon!” Davos snarled, “Can you save your shit for later?”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but Missandei fixed him with a glare so ferocious that he immediately closed it again and remained quiet.

They remained like that for a while: everyone standing around awkwardly while Davos and Missandei sat in the sand with Theon, gently calming him down and bringing him back to his senses. No one had ever witnessed anything like Theon’s behaviour before, and they were all at a loss about what to do, but Missandei’s quiet tones and Davos’ patience seemed to be working. Eventually, Missandei was able to help Theon rise to his feet and he eventually let go of her hand. Davos rose with them, appearing to be relieved. The atmosphere was immediately awkward after that, and Theon looked completely embarrassed and ashamed. If the Ironborn had any respect for him at all, he was sure that it was gone now.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, resenting himself even further for saying it. He felt small beneath their stares.

“When the Queen returns – and I am sure she will return soon – I am certain that she will help get your sister back. I know the waiting is unpleasant, but we have a loving, compassionate queen who helps her allies. She will not fail you,” Missandei smiled sympathetically.

Theon could only nod numbly in response.

“You should take this time to rest, you look knackered,” said Davos.

Oh, he was beyond tired. This was not the particular brand of tiredness that came with wanting to sleep, but rather a combined exhaustion caused by multiple factors. Lack of sleep. Lack of food. Lack of happiness. Lack of hope. His entire body felt heavier than lead. While Theon would welcome any amount of sleep he could get, he knew that it wouldn’t fix even half of the problems – and most of his dreams were haunted with old terrors anyway.

“Would you like me to escort you to your chambers, Lord Greyjoy?” Missandei offered kindly.

Theon glanced at his men. They seemed almost wary, though he wasn’t certain why. Perhaps his behaviour had disturbed them somewhat.

“Alright,” he murmured after a few moments of contemplation. He could talk to the Ironborn later – it would be a bad idea to try planning for Yara’s rescue if his head wasn’t in the right place yet. A nap or two would probably help a little, even if it didn’t solve everything.

Missandei smiled and dipped her head. “The Dothraki will show your men to their quarters. Come with me.” The Dothraki immediately moved forward towards the Ironborn, while Missandei turned and began to walk back to the castle. Theon went to follow her but as he did so, he noticed Jon standing and watching him nearby. Jon’s expression was unreadable but Theon remembered how harsh his tone had been, and he could still feel the way that Jon had grabbed him before. There was nothing more embarrassing than knowing that _Ned Stark’s bastard_ had witnessed him acting so pathetically, but he was also wary of the bastard’s anger. Mostly however, he just felt guilty about what he had done to Jon’s family. Theon immediately dropped his gaze when Jon locked eyes with him – he didn’t want to provoke another conflict. Neither of them said a word. Instead, Theon simply followed Missandei in silence after casting a thankful nod of acknowledgement in Davos’ direction.

Theon tried to keep his head held high as they walked, so as not to appear weak or uncomfortable. He didn’t want anyone to view him as damaged or broken – he struggled sometimes, yes, but he was still standing, and when Daenerys returned he _would_ rescue his sister. No amount of panic attacks or snide comments could take that away from him regardless of what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I never know how to end things ;-; Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Davos was a challenge for me to write, but I hope I did him justice. I may give this a sequel, but who knows.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, or you can even message me on tumblr at greyjoysails c:


End file.
